The Irish standard., 1887-12-03

i tapped about like the sails Of a vessels.
For a long tinle the Cure had kept up a
stout heart, but at last his strength
began to fail him, and he tarned to his
companion, crying in a broken voice:
|''Itis hard work. my boy, for an old
gray beard like me!''
i ssShall I carry yon, M. le Cure?''
i s'No, my child, no; one of us must
have chance of escape
j; 'Yonder is the Forest the peasant
exclaimed, suddenly; let us remain
there until daylight; then we can go
! on
| But the priest refused Our days
: are numbered said he, but only few
| minutes separate Demetrius Blanc
from the Judgment of God Remain in
the forest yourself, my boy, as for me, J.
must go on"
/ Fifty yards further and they could
distinguish the first shadowy line of
Whitened trees, the beginning OF the
forest. They commenced to run but
the cold froze them, the. wind whipped
their faces. the snow beat upon them
from every direction and The peril in
creased with every step. Once under
the trees they had a moments respite,
but only moments. They were now
travelling by chance, bewildered and
helplessly submitting to al the horror
and terror OF their position stumbling
over the stones concealed beneath the
snow and slipping, falling and rising,
only to fall again.
We cannot go any further, M. le
Cure said Antoine. at last; we have
nothing to guide u.s.
The priest did not reply, but, draw
ing match from his pocket, he man.
aged to reLight the lantern, which had
gone out in the struggle Oh the noun
tain, and looked about him. Antoine,
pale. without a hat, his hands torn by
the rocks and his clothes III tatters,
stood beside him, but not trace of the
road could be seen.
/ Antoine, my son. said the old Cure,
tenderly, II ask your pardon for having
brought you with me: 1 should have
come alone
Disrespectful for the first time in his
life, the peasant only shrugged his
shoulders.
! Embrace me. my poor child!' the
Cure continued, almost ia tears: and
Antoine fell upon his breast, weeping
bitterly. we must go on, Antoine, >
said The Cure at last; If we remain here
we shall go to sleep, and TO sleep is
DEATH
Again they took ur their painful
march, but the Able Brock had relied
too much upon his strength; he stag
gered as he walked, his limbs were like
lead and his brain benumbed with cold.
Il am thirsty said he, suddenly; SO
thirstyn
And STOPPING down he took I'D o.
handful Of snow and lifted it to his
lips; but the peasant checked him
! You must not do shat, M. ie Cure,
said he; have little patience
=! All at once the old man staggered
and fell. Antoine dropped the lantern
and caught him in Lis arms.
Give me a drink he Whispered
family; II die of thirst
Antoine uttered 8 cry Of despair
Help! he]p!' he shouted, as il there
were any one to hear in that desolate
solitude; "a holy man is dying for want
Of little wsterl' His voice rose even
above the noise of the wind and tenn.
pest, but no other voice responded to
the appeal.
sInto thy hands, oh! Lord ---~----' the
Cure murInured
| Antoine knelt beside him. tears of
grief ana pain falling from his eyes
upon the freezing flesh OF the good old
abbe at the end of his resources, ex-
| hausted and overcome with sorrow, he
lifted his pastor in his arms and placed
him beneath the shelter of rock which
formed a sort OF recess in the cliff.
There they rested, plunged in deadly
torpor hearing notbih hg seeing
nothing.
The wind ceased the clouds dis
persed, leaving behind them a. dark
blue sky studded with brilliant points.
1T is PARADISE murmurdd the Able
Brock, ..butin the name of pity give me
water or q little snow.'
1T would be better to take poison, M.
le Cure, the peasant replied.
'Ah! but I suffer SOL suffer SOL
Have you knife NJ. le CureT cried
the peasant, hesitatingly.
sYes,' answered the priest. his voice
almost q whisper; take it flom my
pocket
There was moments silence. then
Antoine spoke again.
Open your mouth, NJ. le Cure said
he; open it and drink; it is blood, fresh
and warm
The priest obeyed, and in order to ex-